Page 6 of Bossy Bred

My breathing quickens along with his. I part my lips, feeling a growing desire to wrap my mouth around his cock. But when I start to dip my head, his hand shoots out and digs through my hair, pulling me back.

“Do that and I’ll come in that pretty mouth of yours,” he warns me.

I smile. “Promise?”

He huffs out a laugh, then guides my head forward. I open my mouth and slide my lips around his throbbing cock. With a groan, his fingers tighten in my hair, holding my head as I bob up and down his length.

“Use your tongue,” he commands. “Show me how much you love my cock.”

I do as he says, feeling unsure that I’m doing it right but more than willing to try.

“Lick the tip.” He sucks in a sharp breath as I do. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His fingers tighten harder in my hair as he nears his orgasm, and then his hips jerk forward as he meets his release. A thick jet of warm cum spurts over my tongue and down my throat, making me press my thighs together.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, letting his hand fall out of my hair. He lets out a low, gorgeous laugh, and then hooks his fingers under my chin to lift it up. “Where the hell did you come from?”

The next day, it feels like my night with Jake was a dream. If not for the pleasant sore ache between my legs, I might think it actuallywasall a dream. Twenty-eight-year-old virgins don’t meet up with hot, bossy men in beautiful hotels for a night of countless orgasms and sex lessons. Maybe in imagined fantasies, but not in the real world.

“Miss Jones?”

I snap out of my stupor and return to the reality that I should be a whole lot more present in right now. Smiling apologetically at the student sitting in the chair beside me, I quickly glance at the half-finished math homework sitting in front of us.

“All right, Freddie. Let’s tackle the next problem. What’s the first step?”

My tutee twists his lips in uncertainty as he considers the equation. “Subtract five from both sides?”

I smile, feeling proud of him. Just a few weeks ago, he was so frustrated with his math homework that he didn’t even want to try doing it. “Exactly right.”

The sound of the tutoring center’s front door opening draws my attention toward it. I look over expecting to see more students arriving, but my heart sinks when I see who just walked in.

“I’ll check in with you in a bit, okay, Freddie?” I say as I stand up. “Keep up the good work. You’ve got this.”

As I approach the two men who just walked in, I silently tell myself the same thing:You’ve got this, Leta. You’re not losing this place.But the truth is that I’m not at all confident about the future of the tutoring business I’ve worked so hard to build up. At the end of the day, my landlord has the power to tear it all down.

“Mr. Wegman,” I say, offering a controlled, barely-there smile as I approach. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“Didn’t tell you I was,” he says, hardly giving me a glance. “Don’t worry about us, Miss Jones. We won’t be here long.”

He doesn’t introduce the man he’s brought with him, but I know he must be a potential tenant. This isn’t the first time my landlord has brought someone by to look at the space. I don’t know what he’s telling these potential tenants, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s telling them that the current tenant—yours truly—is moving out soon.

Which is not the case. Not if I can help it.

But first I have to find a way to afford the hike in rent he’s demanding.

And that’s going to be a feat and a half, especially considering that my tutoring center offers its services free of charge—and there’s absolutely no way I’m changing that.

All I want to do right now is kick out these unwanted visitors. But I don’t have that kind of power, so I do the only thing Icando, which is to ignore their presence and get back to work. Looking around the room, I scan the tables for any kids who look like they need help and aren’t currently being assisted by one of the handful of volunteer tutors currently on shift. At the moment, all of the kids look like they’re doing okay—even Freddie is hunched over his math homework, fully concentrating on it—so I head into the tiny back room that is my office.

Alone, I sit down in my squeaky chair, let out a sigh, and stare at the calendar hanging on the opposite wall.

Two weeks from now, I’ll no longer be able to afford rent.

The prospect of losing this space is too depressing to fully think about. It’s not just about the inconvenience and hassle of finding a new location for the tutoring center, or the pain of packing up and moving everything. The thing that worries me the most is that if I have to move, it could be somewhere far away, and I’ll be abandoning all these kids who are seriously struggling in school.

If I fail them like that, I’ll never forgive myself.

I screw shut my eyes and slow my breath, trying to calm my mind.Think about something else. Take your mind off it. You’ll figure it out, but not by torturing yourself with dismal thoughts.

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